The King of All Wild Things
by Holdur
Summary: Spencer didn't know what it was like to have terrible eyes and terrible claws, but he knew what it was like to want them.


**The King of All Wild Things**

Notes: This story relies heavily on the text of _Where the Wild Things Are,_ which means that if you come across a line that you don't think is mine then you are right, it probably isn't. (Maurice Sendak, I love you and mean no disrespect.) Written for comment_fic prompt: Criminal Minds, Spencer, Where The Wild Things Are

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Spencer learned about wild things when he was four, the night before his father stopped reading to him. Spencer sat beside him in the half-light of his room, watching how he traced his finger under the words as he spoke. His father didn't know he could read and he let Spencer look at the pictures for as long as he wanted.

"Don't worry Spencer, monsters don't exist," he said after the last page. Spencer wasn't worried. The next day he looked up the word "gnashing", then spent the day stomping through the house with his shoulders hunched and practiced gnashing his terrible teeth.

"I told you not to read him those horrible children's books," his mother said to his father, "They're full of government propaganda."

That was the night his father stopped reading to him, the night he realized he had a shelf full of books in his head. He could take one down, open to any page and read. It wasn't quite as nice as having a book in his lap with pages he could turn and text he could skim his fingers over, but when the lights went out it was the next best thing.

When they sent him to school, Spencer learned that his father was wrong. The school was full of wild things. They filled up the hallways, all bigger, louder, faster than him. In the classrooms all they could do was roll their terrible eyes, but between classes in the hallways they showed their terrible claws. Spencer spent most of his time picking himself up off the floor, so one day after watching his papers get slapped to the ground for the third time Spencer raised his arms and said "Be still!"

The wild things gathered around and knocked him off his feet again and stole his notebooks and glasses. They hid them on top of the lockers where Spencer couldn't reach so he had to go to class without any homework.

He borrowed all of the books on magic from the library. He wanted to learn about how to tame a monster by staring into their yellow eyes without blinking once, but none of the books he read had that trick and that was the one he needed the most.

That very night in Spencer's room he built a boat out of the books in his head and sailed off through weeks and months and in and out of years, nosing among the classrooms and bumping up against teachers in search of the shore. The closest he found was the library, and that was more like a calm day at sea than a true safe harbor. The best he could do was take what books he could and build a bigger, stronger, safer boat.

His boat capsized when he was ten, spilling him onto the grassy field where the wildest things of all lived. They were waiting for him and once he was out of the boat, he couldn't get back in again. Spencer shivered as the wet from the grass seeped into the knees of his jeans.

One wild thing stepped close, looked back to the others with a terrible grin.

"Let the wild rumpus start!" he said. The wild things were too fast for Spencer to escape. They rushed at him, tearing at his clothes and though Spencer said "Now stop!" he wasn't surprised when they didn't. They were wild things, after all.

When the wild things grew bored, they left him alone in the dark, taking his boat with them. Spencer scratched at the knotted rope, fear creeping through him. He needed to be far away across the city, where his mother was waiting for him. The rope snagged on his fingernail, ripping it off. He growled low in his throat at the pain and felt a little wild.

"I'll eat you up," he whispered to the ground. His fingers dug into the rope, picking patiently. The knots were tight and stubborn. Spencer had to breathe deep and think about how they looped and twisted until it loosened, dumping him to the ground. He scrambled for his clothes while the blood burned back into his hands. They were wet with dew and scraped at his skin as he pulled them on. He sprawled on his back in the grass, pushing his hair out of his face.

"I'll eat you up!" he yelled to the stars and roared his terrible roar.

He wasn't afraid of monsters and one day he would be the king of all wild things.


End file.
